The Story of Peter Pettigrew
by TheSociallyInept
Summary: We know about the night of October 31st, 1981, but what happened in the 48 hours following the deaths of James and Lily Potter?


**A/N - Okay so I did this for my term English assignment. I had to write a story that shows the same themes as Macbeth (y'know, guilt, loopiness, etc.) and I got top marks in the class for it. Hope you like!**

* * *

James and Lily were dead and Harry was an orphan, sent to live with his mother's horrid sister and it was all his fault. He had told the Dark Lord where they were. He had been made secret keeper because Sirius thought he couldn't handle it and he gave them false hope and led them to their deaths.

A long time ago they were all friends, young and careless teenagers just trying to get through school without being caught up too much in what was happening in the war.

The Marauders, princes of pranks; James and Sirius the looks, cunning, brawn and wit, Remus the mastermind behind the plans, and then there was Peter, always carrying out the most imperative of tasks and always going unnoticed.

Then there were the girls, Lily, Dorcas and Marlene, all dead now, killed personally by Voldemort because they were strong, independent and courageous. All three were very brash and exceeded in everything they did.

Lily, though very loud and dauntless, was the quietest of the three, and the brightest, but not by far.

Marlene, a beater on the house Quidditch team, was usually the one amongst the chaos, excelling in diplomacy but, like James, resorting to throwing punches when someone really got on her bad side. Her whole family had been killed.

Then there was Dorcas, no words could describe her properly but one; weird. She was always the one to try new things, going out against the school dress code, changing the colours of anything and everything whenever she felt like it, but the staff tolerated her because she was one of the most brilliant, sweetest people you'd ever meet and could weasel her way out of anything.

They're all dead now though, Peter thought to himself, sitting in his stark apartment. Lily and James had only been killed mere hours ago and they had already been found.  
_It's all your fault_, a voice whispered as clear as if the speaker was standing right in front of him, but there was nobody else in the apartment. _They didn't deserve to die. They were your friends.  
_  
"Shut up," Peter muttered.  
_  
You are nothing_, the voice was in his head, _what about Harry? They were happy. They were your friends._

"Shut up!" He yelled, hitting the back of his head against the wall he was sitting against.  
_  
What have you done?_ The voice was Sirius' now, _they loved you, they treated you like family!  
_  
Tears ran down his cheeks but he didn't feel them, he dragged his dirty fingernails along his scalp, pulling at his hair, "I know! I'm sorry!" He cried.

The voice was Remus' now, sad and pleading, _Peter, why?_

Well done, Wormtail, this time it belonged to Voldemort, _how does it feel to be the reason your friends were murdered?_

And then there was Harry, little Harry, giggling.

"I'm sorry!" Peter screamed.

* * *

Hours later, long after he had gone quiet, Peter still sat against the same wall in the same spot, the clock on the table illuminated 10:00pm. He jumped as there was a loud thumping on the door.

"Peter, open the door!" Sirius barked, pounding harder on the door, "I know you're in there, open the door!" After a few minutes the crashing ceased, Sirius kicked the door and left.

After he had finally coerced himself to get up and go to bed Peter laid there, staring up at the cracked ceiling. It was one in the morning and there was no way he would be getting to sleep any time soon, every time he closed his eyes Peter could see a flash of green and heard the screams of his friends.

"It's my fault. It's all my fault," He moaned, tossing and turning in the dark.

_You won't be blamed_, came Voldemort's voice, _you can simply forget about it.  
_  
Though it should of, that didn't settle him any.

* * *

London seemed to be especially gloomy that Sunday, the sky was a terrible dark grey, it rained on and off all day and the ferocious wind stung any exposed skin it could reach. The war was over, Voldemort was gone, he knew that, it should have been a happy, pleasant day. Sirius was still going to come after him, that Peter also knew, and he was ready for it. At 7o'clock he left, slamming the door behind him.

It was a little after eight when Sirius got to Peter's apartment, his drenched clothes dripping on the carpet in the hall. Wand at the ready, he tried the door knob, it was unlocked. He was almost happy to see that the apartment was deserted; almost every draw had been ripped open and emptied. He'd known that Sirius would come.

It was around eleven when he found Peter in a half empty street in the back of London, the only person besides himself without an umbrella and the only person talking to themself. As soon as Peter laid eyes on him he turned to go back the way he came.

"Pettigrew!" Sirius barked, making a few people throw him dirty looks. Peter stopped in his tracks and turned to face Sirius.

"Who will believe a murderer, especially one who killed his own friend," Peter muttered to himself.

Sirius walked toward him, "You told him, didn't you?" He growled, grabbing Peter by the shirt, "It's your fault they're dead!" Now everyone turned to look.

"_You_ told them to make me secret keeper," Peter spat, "it's _your_ fault,"

"Maybe so," He muttered, pulling his wand from the pocket of his jeans, "but it's you who is the traitor. They were your friends! They loved you!"

Peter's hand shook as he too reached for his wand. But unlike Sirius, Peter was not hesitant; in an instant he was shooting curses everywhere. Everywhere but at Sirius who was standing stiff with wide eyes. He hadn't even tried to stop him.

"Sectumsempra," Peter muttered, slicing a finger off with the curse, "I guess Snape was good for something," he held his own wand to his forehead, "goodbye, Sirius." Not a second later he was just a rat scurrying off down the street as Sirius shot curse after curse after him.

When the muggle police got there Sirius was still standing in the middle of the street, clutching his wand with a quivering hand, staring down the way Peter had gone. Limp bodies littered the ground, the blood running from their wounds washing down the drains with the pouring rain. It wasn't long before the Aurors showed up and Sirius was escorted to Azkaban, making no protests along the way. One day he would get his revenge.


End file.
